


When Travelling With The Hobbit...

by Nanerich



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Sackville-Bagginses, Mentions of Smaug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 23:03:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20299387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanerich/pseuds/Nanerich
Summary: The travels from the Shire to The Lonely Mountain were long, preilous and undeniably exhausting, but when you're in good company, things don't even seem all that bad.





	1. I Am Familiar With The Type...

**Author's Note:**

> Bunch of little oneshots about life on the road

“So, what you are saying is that this dragon invaded your home, took control over your possessions after having eyed it for who knows many years, evicting you as soon as he got the chance?”

Bilbo took a bite out of his bread, looking up at Thorin. They had been on the road for a few days, and he understood more and more of the Dwarves’ situation. At the moment the company sat around a fire, eating their supper.

“That is correct”, the Dwarf answered.

“Master Baggins”, Balin turned to him, “we are grateful that you support our quest, even though I am sure it’s hard for you to imagine such a situation.”

“Oh no, I am familiar with the type”, the Hobbit scoffed.

Everybody eyed him curiously, except for Gandalf; the wizard’s expression was more puzzled than anything else. “Now Bilbo, I know that I haven’t been in the Shire for a while, but I think I would remember a hostile take-over of Hobbiton… Who or what ever invaded your home and expelled you from it?”

“Sackville-Baggins”, he grumbled angrily.

“You are comparing Lobelia to Smaug?”, the wizard laughed, “this is the most Hobbit-like thing I have ever heard.”

“Don’t you dare laugh”, Bilbo glared up at him, “not at my family’s darkest chapters.”

While the wizard giggled quietly to himself, the Dwarves shot each other confused looks.

“What is a Sackville-Baggins?” Kili was the first to speak up after a few moments of silence.

“And who is Lobelia?”, his older brother asked.

“Well, so Mungo and Laura Baggins, my grand-parents, they had five children: Bungo, Belba Longo, Linda and Bingo. Bungo, he is my father. Now my mother, Belladonna, she was the daughter of The Old Took, Gerontius, the oldest Hobbit that ever lived, 130 years old at the time of his death. His great-uncle was the amazing Bull-Roarer Took, who was the tallest...”

“Bilbo. The Sackville-Bagginses, remember?”, Gandalf reminded the Hobbit.

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry, I got off track.” Bilbo cleared his throat before he continued. “My parents, Bungo and Belladonna, they built and financed Bag End together, my wonderful home you have all visited before.”

“Aha.”

The company exchanged a few glances that Bilbo didn’t seem to notice, he kept on sharing his family history. Gandalf, who expected something like this, had a wonderful time and enjoyed the quizzical expressions on the Dwarves faces.

“Now, Longo, my father’s brother, my uncle, he married Camellia Sackville, from Michel Delving. She was the heiress of the Sackville family headship, which is why they chose to hyphen their names.”

“Are we getting closer to an answer? I really cannot tell…”, Fili whispered to Gandalf.

“Who’s to say?”

“Great”, the young Dwarf grumbled.

“Longo and Camellia Sackville-Baggins, they had one son, my cousin, Otho Sackville-Baggins. He married Lobelia Bracegirdle. Now traditionally the Bracegirdles have their home in the Northfarthing, in the town of Hardbottle, which is also where Lobelia was born.”

“So… Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is your cousin’s wife”, Gloin summarized.

“Yes.”

Gandalf had to chuckle. The Hobbit’s attention to their family histories was completely lost on the Dwarves, who didn’t quite know what to do with all this information.

“Alright… And she… She is trying to gain control over your home?”, Bofur asked carefully.

“A vile woman, truly dreadful. She and her husband, my uncle, have eyed Bag End for years and years, trying to pry it from me, though I am the rightful owner! Every time they come over, I have to lock away the silverware, she has stolen some spoons before. Can you believe?” Enraged, the Hobbit smashed the piece of bread in his hand.

“What a horrid family!”, Kili decided, though he looked like he was not exactly sure what he agreed on.

“Yes, Master Burglar, the problems with your cousin and his wife are truly comparable to our people’s woe, caused by the dragon”, Thorin remarked, with a monotone voice and a dead-pan expression on his face. “I am really relieved that Gandalf has chosen a burglar who can sympathize with our issues and manages to go on such an adventure despite having suffered so much himself.”

The wizard laughed. “You are very welcome!”


	2. Judge That Beard!

When first looking at it, it might seem that the Elves are the people most concerned with their looks: long flowing manes, perfectly kempt and braided; their light clothes in best condition; from the looks of it unable to dirty themselves. As a rule, they look down on other people less concerned with the finer arts of life.

Dwarfs on the other hand… they don’t seem to give their appearance too much effort. After all, they spend most time under grounds, working in the dirty, dusty mines all over Middle Earth.

It wasn’t long into his adventure with Thorin’s company that Bilbo learned that this judgement was not completely true. Although their choice of clothing was mostly influenced by comfort and practicability, their love for their hair and especially their beards, well, the Elves did not put them to shame there.

“Bilbo, wouldn’t you agree that my beard is a lot more beautiful than my brother’s?” Fili came up alongside Bilbo.

“No, you have to admit that mine is the better one.” On his other side, Kili showed up, putting his arm around Bilbo’s shoulder.

“Lads, I’m sorry, but Hobbits aren’t exactly the most experienced with beards…”

“But even a Hobbit has to admit that my little brother’s beard is not as great as mine.”

It wasn’t long until they had the attention of the entire company and everybody recognized their beard as the most magnificent, starting a lengthy discussion. Bilbo couldn’t exactly follow, unaware of the importance of facial hair.

“Bilbo”, Thorin’s deep voice grumbled, “you are the only impartial person in this group. Therefore, you are the best person to make a decision here.”

The Dwarfs assembled in a semicircle around Bilbo, clearly waiting for a quick judgement. But this was not how he would judge. He wasn’t the Shire’s champion judge 8 years in a row in the gardening contest, pie eating and competitive vegetable growing for nothing. So, if he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.

“Gentlemen. I am honoured to judge your beards to find the most magnificent.” Slowly, Bilbo paced around the circle of Dwarfs. “There are six parts to be considered: length, colour, softness, thickness, cut and style. I will judge on all off them to find the winner.”

Very clearly this was not what the Dwarfs were expecting. Kili motioned to protest, but Thorin held him back. “Very well, Master Burglar, start your process.”

Now, length and softness were easy to determine. One after the other, Bilbo measured the beards, before gently brushing them with his hands. It didn’t take too long, only about an hour. So far, the kingly line of Durin did not do well.

Next, the Hobbit looked at the colour and thickness. “A patchy beard can barely be described as magnificent. Your beard’s thickness is maybe hereditary but is also an indicator of how well you’re grooming. Same goes for the hue. What I am looking for are a high intensity of colour, any natural highlights, maybe even variegated shades.”

Bilbo felt such elation, like he was back in the Shire, a table of pies in front of him, waiting to be judged. The Hobbits usually were more eager for him to be thorough, he had a feeling the Dwarfs didn’t exactly appreciate his accuracy, but he didn’t care too much, he was like a duck in water.

And now, as they entered the third hour, his favourite part began: judging the cut and style of the beards. He was going to treasure it, make sure to include every detail he could see.

Kili was done for quickly: his three o’clock shade could barely be called a beard and so he was unfortunately pretty much eliminated.

Same with Thorin. His beard was a lot fuller, cut neatly, but kept too short to be of real impact.

Fili had wonderful braids, albeit a little short. As majestic as the heirs of Durin and successors to the throne were, their beards unfortunately were not. And they were not too amused by this, but they asked for an impartial judge and that Bilbo was.

Now, Bombur’s braid was something: consistent, exact work.

Nori’s facial hair was wonderfully braided, woven together on both sides most beautifully, just like that of Oin, which was perfectly curved and symmetrical.

Balin’s beard was not braided, not very artistic, but combed and kept perfectly with both crooks clean on each side.

After four hours of brushing, comparing and measuring it was clear: The Dwarf with the most magnificent beard was Gloin. A full, long beard, intensely coloured and artistically braided – he scored highly in all six categories and deserved the win.

Weirdly enough, the Dwarfs didn’t really care about the result anymore, they were all sitting around the fire, more interested in their lunch than Bilbo’s findings. Not even Gloin!

“Master Boggins, we appreciate your diligence”, Kili munched, his mouth full of bread, “but we just wanted to know which one you like best.”

“And that I told you”, Bilbo answered, “Gloin has the most beautiful beard.” He did not understand the reaction.

“Thank you very much, Bilbo.” Gloin got up and walked over to the Hobbit. “I very appreciate it. What my young friend here means to say is that we Dwarfs usually only tend to speak our mind and share our opinions openly and bluntly.”

“Oh. I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I really don’t.” Bilbo was confused, but willing to let it slide. After all he had delivered and announced the most beautiful beard.

“Master Burglar, take a seat and eat. You have done your job as judge and you have done it exceptionally. Now we have wasted too much time on this, so eat quickly, we have a lot of time to make up.”

And that was all. The Dwarfs never asked Bilbo to be the judge of anything again. Although they didn’t really bring it up anymore, Gloin walked a little taller, his chest puffed out and a victorious glint in his eyes.

And finally, about a year later, just when he got back home, he once again was the champion judge of Hobbiton, awaited and appreciated for his attention for details and diligence; finally, he was home.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this one, please PLEASE send me prompts! I'd love to continue this collection :)


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